Red
by MistressSnowflake
Summary: My painting had been so red, that I wasn't sure that I'd have room for the other colors, but I didn't let that bother me for long. I had remembered the quiet curiosity as I looked at the red that decorated my hand, tracing my finger over the lines of my palm where it was darker than the rest. Bella. Yes? Go wash your hands before you use the other colors, we don't want them to mix.


**Hello! Welcome to my very first story on this lovely site. I have been a reader on this site for many, many years and I have finally decided to write one of my own. I hope you all welcome me with open arms, and if you have any questions don't hesitate to ask!**

 **I don't own anything by Stephanie Meyer, although we all wish that we did.**

 **Enjoy!**

It seemed like a dream. As if everything that was happening around me was just a figment of my imagination; it was cloudy, incomprehensible, and made absolutely no sense. An annoying light kept flaring across my vision and voices are a distant echo, similar to that time my mother yelled out into the Grand Canyon, hearing her voice reverberate back in quieter tones. Why couldn't the voices just leave me alone? I didn't feel good. My entire body felt numb, heavy. Let me go back to sleep- in peace.

"...wan! Ca… you hear me?" I think I blinked. What?

A thud to my right caused me to unexpectedly twitch and my eyes burst open, causing me to blink frantically against the sudden bright light that shone down on me. Go away, light. You're bothering my precious sleep time. At any moment, mom is going to yell at me to come downstairs to eat breakfast before school; I have to sleep for as long as I can. My eyes fluttered and began drifting closed again.

"Miss Swan! Keep your eyes open for me. Can you hear me?" Who was this man? And why did he keep yelling at me? I was so warm, and I so badly wanted to sleep. My eyes closed again. Perhaps I could curl up on my side and wrap myself in my fleece tinkerbell blanket that my grandmother had given to me for my eighth birthday. It smelt of warm cider and apple cinnamon. I began to turn over.

I couldn't move.

Panic shot through me and my eyes shot open again, focusing on the nearest thing. My eyes locked on piercing blue ones surrounded by slightly creased skin. I struggled to breathe and I felt something being forced over my head, securing itself over my mouth. A sudden burst of air surged through me and I tossed my head, confused.

I was being wheeled down a bright hallway. I could barely feel the momentum pulsing throughout my body as it hurtled towards its destination. Those blue eyes never left mine. They were an anchor. Would I drift off to sleep without them? Perhaps I would have. Noise slowly crept back into my consciousness and I struggled to comprehend what everyone was saying.

The device that was strapped to my face began to feel suffocating, and my hand obeyed, and moved to remove the offending item. When my hand came into view, I stopped. Red.

My mind flashed back to my first day of first grade, when Ms. Eliason allowed us to play with finger paint after we finished our spelling. I remembered placing my hand into the bright red paint, having been excited to use my favorite color to paint the sunrise that I had seen earlier that morning as my mother walked me to school. Next I would use orange, and after that? Yellow. I made sure to pay careful attention to the red sun that crested over the horizon. My painting had been so red, I was afraid that I wouldn't have room for the other colors, but I didn't let that bother me for long. I had remembered the quiet curiosity as I looked at the red that decorated my hand, tracing my finger over the lines of my palm where it was darker than the rest. It was drying and cracking in places; it felt strange when I flexed my fingers. Bella. Yes? Go wash your hands before you use the other colors, we don't want the colors to mix. Yes, Ms. Eliason.

I needed to wash my hands. As my hand hovered above my face, surrounded by the glow of the harsh light above me, I was overcome with the sudden urge to mix the red on my hand with many different colors, desperate to change that startling, ruby shade to something else. Something safe. But what color is safe? Blue? Green?

"... anesthesia…" I vaguely heard a voice murmur, and after a few seconds, I knew no more.

*5 Hours Earlier*

The cool metal between my fingers burned slightly as I twisted my house key in the lock. The door gave way as I turned the knob and entered the house.

 _Click. Click._

I could hear the television blaring from the living room; my father had said that he was going to watch the Twins vs. Mariners game this evening. A soft scent of chocolate wafted from the kitchen and I followed it.

My mother was hunched over the sink, humming under her breath with her head gently swaying from side to side, her chestnut hair, so like mine, glinting in the dim light.

"Hey mom," I paused as she swung her head to look at me. "I'm home." I lifted my satchel off of my shoulders and set it on one of our kitchen chairs. She smiled and quickly dried her hands off of before rushing over to me.

"Oh, Bella! I can't believe that today was your last day of Junior year," She wrung her hands in front of her. She had become overly emotional these past few weeks. I turned eighteen in a few months, and to her that signalled the ending of my childhood and all she's ever known. I didn't feel the same, to me it was just another thing that occurred. Like puberty, or a simple cut on your finger. "How was it? Did you get everything settled for this Friday? We need to find a photographer to do your school pictures. I heard Mrs. Stanley is really great with lighting, what do you think?"

I nodded absentmindedly as I sorted through the mail on the table. Nothing from any of the colleges I applied to. Yet. "Sure mom, Mrs. Stanley would be great." She did do some really amazing work. I have no complaints. I glanced up towards my mother and noticed that she was busy fretting over something in the oven and I decided to silently slip out of the room.

I stopped at the entryway and silently observed my father as he became wound up over the play that just happened on the television. He didn't seem too happy about it. I chuckled fondly and walked over to him. He looked up as I walked up to his favorite blue recliner. "Hey, Bells. How was your last day?" He pressed the pause button on the DVR.

"It was great dad. I'm excited for Senior year, you know?" He nodded, his mustache twitching ever so slightly in amusement. "Who's winning the game?" I asked.

His eyes widened in excitement. "The Mariners, but not by much. They'll be lucky if they don't get overtaken in the fourth inning." Noticing his excitement I bent down to kiss his cheek, knowing that he was anxious to get back to his game. He turned red and spluttered, "There's leftover fish in the fridge, Bells. Help yourself." I chuckled and walked out. There was always fish in the fridge. He has an unnatural love with eating it in any form that he could.

Walking up the stairs, I had a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. I paused and shouted, "I love you!" I waited a beat before continuing up the stairs. The responding "I love you's" made me smile.

Entering my room, I noticed how dark it was getting. I had stayed after late at school to help Mrs. Cope clean out her office and it was nearly eight already. Heaving a sigh, I laid on top of my purple comforter and stared at the ceiling. It was still littered with my worn out glow-in-the-dark stars that I had dad place there a few years ago. One… Two… Three. Blowing a breath out and ruffling my bangs, I turned over and kicked off my converse, flinching as they thudded loudly against the wooden floor. I shuffled underneath my covers. I knew that I should brush my teeth and change into more comfortable clothes, but I was incredibly drained from today. I just wanted to sleep.

I'll deal with the consequences in the morning.

Something was beeping and it was incredibly annoying. Parents? You should go take care of it so that I can sleep. Thanks. Love you. I burrowed my head underneath my pillow and huffed out a breath. They'll hear it in a few minutes.

I waited those few more minutes, the distant beeping progressively becoming more annoying, much to my chagrin. What is that awful noise? Dad's a light sleeper, and he usually wakes up at the smallest of noises.

Throwing my comforter off of my slightly sweaty body, I slid out of my bed. I wobbled a little bit when my feet his the cold floor and I quickly padded towards the hallway. The lights were off and my brow furrowed when the beeping became more insistent the closer I got.

I found myself standing at the top of the stairs, straining my ears to hear anything besides the beeping. I could faintly hear the television downstairs, meaning my father shouldn't have been in bed yet. Creeping down the stairs quietly, I stopped at a noise in the kitchen.

I could hear shuffling in the kitchen, almost as if someone was dragging something along the floor. I hear it usually when mom is taking the trash out, but it's nearly one in the morning. What is she doing taking the garbage out this late? Did she forget?

Shrugging my shoulders, I walked faster down the steps and rounded the corner into the kitchen, passing the living room entryway as I went. "Mom, what are yo-" I froze.

The kitchen was dark except for the light above the stove, and the light illuminated the far corner of the room, casting shadows upon a figure standing near the furthest wall. I squinted and the figure dropped whatever it was holding. "Mom?" It stepped closer to me and I felt my stomach drop to my knees. The figure was too tall to be my mother. "Dad? What're you doing?" The figure advanced towards me and I felt my back hit the wall behind me. A flash of short, blonde hair glinted in the light and I felt my blood run cold. I ran.

The front door was located on the other side of the kitchen, so I couldn't get out. I ran towards the stairs, hoping to lock myself in my bedroom before this person could catch me. I could hear heavy thuds as the person chased after my, and I slipped on something as I passed the living room entryway on my way to the stairs. Catching myself just in time, I hurtled my way up the steps two at a time.

A hand wrapped around my ankle as I neared the top and something landed on me with a loud groan. Heavy breaths escaped them, and I found myself looking up into a masculine face enshrouded in shadow, I didn't recognize anything about this man. I struggled in his hold and spit in his face, screaming. A sharp blow to the side of my head left me reeling and I felt something sharp pierce my side. Gasping out a breath, my knee reflexively came up and knocked my attacker over.

Hearing the man groan in pain, I hurried to get up, screaming out at the flash of pain that overtook me as I did. Limping towards my room, I faintly heard a scuffle on the wooden floor and whispered expletives. "Stupid, bitch! You'll pay for that." A groan released him as he advanced.

I reached my door just as I hear him behind me and I slammed it shut and locked it, hearing his cry of outrage as I did so. I sunk down against the door, my body vibrating with every blow that was given on the door. I could hear someone breathing harshly, breaths coming out in pants. It took me a while to realize it was me. The pain against my side was insurmountable, and my hand pushed against it. Wetness greeted me and I knew that I only had so much time left.

Crawling over to my bed, I pulled the comforter off and pressed it against my side in an effort to staunch the bleeding. I laid my tired body on the floor, praying for this all to be a nightmare. The ceiling spun. The stars are glowing bright.

 **Pretty short for the first chapter, huh? Hopefully that will change as the story progresses. What did you all think? I would love to hear your thoughts on what just transpired, and where you think the story is headed!**

 **Thank you!**

 **Snowflake**


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